


Day 2: Choking

by Folle



Series: Frisky February 2020 [2]
Category: The Boy (2016 Bell)
Genre: Anal Sex, Asphyxiation, Blow Jobs, Choking, Friends With Benefits, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:28:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22561762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Folle/pseuds/Folle
Summary: For slashthedice's event over on tumblr, Frisky February.Day 2: ChokingBrahms Heelshire x Male s/o, side Malcolm x Male s/o
Relationships: Brahms Heelshire/Reader, Malcolm (The Boy)/Reader
Series: Frisky February 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623325
Comments: 1
Kudos: 90





	Day 2: Choking

To say that Brahms has an affinity for you is a bit of an understatement really. Even before he came out of the walls and all you knew of the strange boy that he was a doll, possibly possessed, he lorded over you.

When at first you didn’t believe that the doll wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, you let it sit days on in his bedroom. Then you woke up with the doll nestled in your arms, and you knew this was no ordinary situation. And then there was the day you tried to leave just for a night out drinking, and the walls shook violently, and you could hear Brahms screaming and crying from where you had put him to bed.

Or when sweet, sweet Malcolm made his move and kissed you just outside the backdoor, only for pots and pans in the kitchen to be sent clattering to the floor and a nice vase full of flowers he had brought was smashed against a wall.

Even though Malcolm was very concerned for your well being, you assured him Brahms was just being a brat and throwing a temper tantrum. He is, of course, used to being the center of attention, that you and Malcolm can always try after you put Brahms to bed.

It never came to that, because a few nights later you got a frantic phone call from your mother that your father was dying, and you very much needed to come home right now. It briefly crosses your mind that she could be lying to try and get you back. In fact, you’re almost certain she is, but there’s still the gnawing thought in the back of your head, _what if she isn’t?_

You were so whipped into a frenzy, rushing about and trying to pack up what you were certain that you needed that you completely forgot about Brahms, to tell him there was a family emergency. Didn’t even pay mind to the walls groaning and Brahms crying for you not to leave. Until you were trying to run out the front door, but were met with a solid wall of _man_. A very hairy man in a mask who had a good 4 inches on you, and held you tight and asked you so sweetly “ _Please don’t go. I promise I’ll be good._ ”

You knew in an instant that this, somehow, has to be Brahms. With that lilt you’re certain, and it could be a homeless man who has been living in the walls this entire time. But when you look into those dark brown eyes, you know. There’s no doubt.

So you don’t leave, you stay, for your Brahms, and almost nothing changed from your day to day. Instead of caring for the doll, it was an overgrown man in a mask who acted like a bratty child. Instead of carrying the doll, you lead Brahms around by his hand, and instead of holding the doll during the lulls in the house, there was a man in your lap who would breathe a little too hard whenever you petted his hair. 

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that he was an adult, despite his size. He was so… _innocent._ It’s why, despite loving to shower him in affection, you rarely indulge because of the time you sprung a boner you couldn’t hide. His touch drove you wild, but he had wrapped a hand around your throat and gave a squeeze, during a tantrum involving you kissing Malcolm again. You couldn’t go anywhere pressed against the wall, and your pants became uncomfortably tight. 

In the instant that his grasp was there, it was gone, and Brahms, horrified at himself, ran into the walls. Then came out at dinner to hug you from behind and apologize for hurting you.

You know that you should know better, than to feel that way, because you can hear him at night in his room, pleasuring himself while muffling your name. But you smile, and go on as if nothing’s amiss. Even though there are some nights when you can’t help but do the same, thinking of him holding you down and having his way with you.

And then Malcolm has to go and throw a wrench in things. You shouldn’t follow him out to his car under the guise of helping him with his delivery, but you do. You know Brahms is going to throw a fit. And you shouldn’t agree to go to the pub for drinks, especially when you haven’t put Brahms to bed yet, but you do. You get into the passenger side, and you can see the front doors getting thrown wide open and his standing there, about to scream something, but stopping himself physically.

Malcolm doesn’t notice, and continues driving. The pub he takes you too is decent, the drink are fine, the other patrons are kind, but you can’t wait until he brings you outside and into the back seat of his car. You pull him in for the kiss, and his hands feel so nice slipping under your shirt end delving into your jeans. It’s been a long while since someone else has touched you like this, and you relish in how he worships your body with his mouth and hands.

And the sex with him? It’s sweet and careful, and even though he finishes first (inside, but using a condom, what a gentleman), he lays you down across the back seat and sucks you off until your thighs are shaking and you cum inside his mouth, and he swallows _everything_.

Every other time you’ve been driven home after cumming down a hot guy’s throat, its been terse and silent, but how could it ever be with Malcolm? He lets you out at the manor, with a cheery “See you next week!” with a wave and a wink, and waits until you’re inside before driving off.

The house isn’t as much of a wreck as you thought it was going to be on the drive back. There’s books scattered everywhere in the library, and a few tables are kicked over, a trail leading you up to the master bedroom, where Brahms is curled up in a tight ball, hiding his face in a pillow.

His head snaps up the moment he hears your footsteps enter the bedroom. There’s a brief passing of relief in his eyes and form, which quickly morphs into anger as he rushes to grasp you by the arm and throw you into the bed effortlessly. He advances on you, shoulders shaking. “You promised you would never leave me!” his voice is deep, unlike any other time you’ve heard him.

You should be outraged at how physical he’s being, but you can feel out cock twitching in interest when he crawls on top of you and pins you down by your wrists. “I’m the only one you’re allowed to love. Just me, not Malcolm, not anyone else.”

“I… Brahms, I have needs, I can’t just ignore them,” you manage to get out. Malcom, so soft “doesn’t have to be something serious or one time”. Mutually beneficial. “And I… Look, I can’t ask you for those kinds of things, it is’t appropriate.”

All of that rage melts away, but he still keeps his bruising grip. “ _Needs?_ ” he tilts his head to the side. It’s like the flip of a switch, and that only does to excite you more. The cogs turn in his head before his body goes rigid, and his voice goes cold. “You’re mine,” he seethes. “I want to- I’m going to take care of you. No one else can touch you but me, no one else can have you but me.”

He presses his mask to your lips in the facsimile of a kiss, and Brahms wastes exactly no time in getting you out of your clothes. Your silence is as much of an okay for him as anything else.

You didn’t have any time upon coming home to clean yourself up, so your entrance is still loose and nearly dripping with lube, because Malcolm had been _so_ worried about hurting you.

Brahms has no such reserves, and hastily undoes his suspenders, and pushing down his pants and boxers just enough to get his cock out. You don’t have enough time to get a good look at it before he’s thrusting into you, right to the hilt. He shudders and moans, rolling his hips to relish in you before setting a brutal pace.

One of his hands naturally go to your neck, and the other your hip to get better leverage. The pressure on your throat and loss of air is unexpected, but not entirely unwanted.

You can feel your orgasm building up as the lack of air makes your head spin, your chest ache, and your gut burn. “Brahms-” you struggle to gasp out, back bowing underneath him, desperate for the friction of your cock against his stomach. So, so close-

Brahms rips his hand away when he sees your eyes rolling back into your head and your limbs convulsing as you grip on to his cardigan, unable to do much else. His hips still, and you can see the tears in his eyes and spilling over his mask. “ _I’m sorry, I’m sorry._ ” His hands flutter to your face, cradling your cheeks.

Without saying anything, you lay your hands over his and slide them back down to your throat, making sure to press them down. You keep your eyes locked with his as they go wide, and nod.

He gives an experimental squeeze, both hands firmly pressed to the column of your neck. When you gasped moan and bucked underneath him, Brahms steadily but surely built up his speed to the same, unforgiving pace. He watches you closely, his heavy breathing audible behind his mask. Almost as if he doesn’t believe you’re there, under his hands, rasping out ‘faster’ and 'please’.

You might have slept with Malcom, handsome Malcolm who you share laughs and kisses with, but Brahms, big scary Brahms whose touch you normally shy away from, is squeezing the life from you and you’re begging him for _more_.

It’s the spectacle of you desperately trying to cry out of moan, cum spurting from you and you wildly tugging at his curls that set him off. Brahms lets his hands dropping and pulls you by the hips so he’s buried as deep as he cums. He jerks and tenses up when ropes of hot cum fill you up. Brahms falls onto your chest, wrapping himself snuggly around you, not bothering to pull out quite yet.

His head rises and falls with your heaving chest as you try to catch your breath after the, in your experiences, most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. Your entire body is slicked with both of your sweat and your cum, which is going to horribly stain Brahms’ shirt and you know it.

Brahms briefly lifts his head to admire the flush on your cheeks and the wreath of bruises around your neck starting to form. _His_ work. He snuggles back into your chest when you wrap shaky arms around him.

“You did such a good job Brahmsy. Enough for me to forgive how _badly_ you just behaved.” Your voice is hoarse, and the mock disappointment is lost amongst the scratchiness, but you assure Brahms by running your fingers through his sweaty hair.

“I’ll always take care of you,” he mutters into the clammy skin of your chest. “You don’t need other people, just me. Only me.”


End file.
